


en l'Année 2020

by ShitpostingfromtheBarricade



Series: In the Year 2014 [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dahlia PoV, Epilogue, Gen, Meeting Again, alternate universe - 2020 without coronavirus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27606526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/pseuds/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade
Summary: Six years have gone by since the events of 2014, and Dahlia has moved on with her life and all but forgotten about them until a familiar face reappears over her lunch break.Warnings:noneCan be read by itself or as part of the series.
Relationships: Dahlia & Favourite (Les Misérables)
Series: In the Year 2014 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018360
Comments: 14
Kudos: 14





	en l'Année 2020

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read "en l'Année 2014," there are some references to it, but overall you should be able to understand this as long as you know the gist of what happened canonically with Fantine and Tholomyès. 
> 
> This is also original content, so Hugo's style is not as present (though An Effort Was Made).
> 
> Thanks as always to [PieceOfCait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieceOfCait/pseuds/PieceOfCait) for beta-reading for me. <3

The café Dahlia attends during her lunch break is a small one. It’s the kind of place that, six years ago, she might have balked at, with its tacky white panelling underscoring dark yellow walls plastered in posters and art; the main area has had four small tables optimistically jammed into it with small steel chairs surrounding each one and a bar set into the front window, and the counter and its glass display are half-obscured behind a case of drinks and a trash can. Next to the register, three signs are taped to wood laminate: 

    MINIMUM DEBIT CARD CHARGE: $5.00  
MINIMUM CREDIT CARD CHARGE: $10.00  
NO EXCEPTIONS!!!

     HARIRA SOUP

     DUE TO NEW MANAGEMENT  
WE ARE NO LONGER GIVING ITEMS ON CREDIT.  
ALL ITEMS MUST BE PAID FOR BEFORE LEAVING.  
THANK YOU!

In 2020, the deli is Dahlia’s sanctuary. 

She brings her own salad, but she buys a latte, which earns her the good graces of the owner, a graying Algerian man called Yassine. Today Dahlia springs for an additional treat: a chocolate croissant. After all, it is not every day that she has company.

Favourite has already claimed for them the best seats in the cramped café: at the window, the café seems a little larger, and even Favourite’s legs, long as they’ve ever been, don’t risk bumping the underside of the table.

“Oh Dahlia, I can’t believe it’s really you! At first I was sure my eyes were deceiving me, but then I saw those nails — you really haven’t changed an inch, have you?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Dahlia smiles saccharinely over her tupperware. Her nails, in fact, are among the only things she’s managed to retain since then, a luxury. Even then, these days they are the result of internet tutorials, rather than the appointments she once maintained on a biweekly basis. Still, they are her pride and joy, and she decides to cling to the compliment. 

“Of course! How could I be so short-sighted: you’re in med school now!”

This time Dahlia prickles slightly under the attention, trying not to grimace as she pats down her scrubs with an awkward chuckle. “Secretary, actually. At the dentistry around the corner.”

“Still!” Favourite gushes. “Look at you, with your respectable job. God, it’s so strange to think of us all so grown up: it seems like only yesterday we were going out weekly with those chumps.”

This surprises a laugh from Dahlia. “They really were chumps, weren’t they?” She shakes her head. “Is it strange that I’ve barely thought of Listolier since then?”

“I barely thought of Blacheville while we were dating.”

“Oh my God, that’s right!” she says through a mouthful of crouton and dressing, reaching up her free hand to cover her face until she swallows. “I guess you probably already had the next guy lined up by then, huh? Who was it, the actor?”

“Oh, Aaron!” Favourite sighs dramatically. “Ours was a love made to last!”

“Whatever happened to him?”

“I wasn’t a fan of his mother, and he wasn’t a fan of my boyfriend.”

 _“Favourite!”_ Dahlia shrieks, ignoring the reproachful glare she receives from Yassin for her excitement. How could she have forgotten how _messy_ Favourite was?

Favourite’s eyes twinkle the way Dahlia remembers had been the source of her long and problematic string of lovers in the first place. “Enough about me, how have you been? You fell off of facebook, and I’ve never seen you on Instagram, what have you been up?”

“Oh, this and that,” Dahlia demures.

“Don’t play coy,” Favourite scolds. “My life is chronicled on social media, who knows when I’ll see you again?”

“Oh, you _did_ deserve to be called ‘Grandmother’ back then, didn’t you?”

“Perhaps I did.” The corner of Favourite’s mouth twitches upward, but she remains undeterred. “You clearly aren’t still bussing tables at diners.”

Dahlia concedes defeat, slowly chewing her salad before responding. “I did that for another year or two before I became tired with living by the whims of flighty men. Started looking for better jobs and watching my spending more closely. I’m doing some night classes now, but it’s slow going with work.”

“Ooh, classes for what? Dental hygienics?”

It’s a struggle not to make a face at that: Dahlia can think of almost nothing she’d like less. “Business administration. Management.”

“Ah,” Favourite smiles. “You’d be well-suited to that, I think.”

Favourite’s approval shouldn’t mean much to Dahlia, but after all of the late hours and scrimping and budgeting, it’s nice to receive affirmation from _someone_. “Thank you.”

“You didn’t put anything away when you were with Listolier or anyone, then?”

“No. I should have, and I’ve cursed past me one thousand times for her lack of foresight, but alas,” she shrugs, picking up her latte, “little to be done about it now.”

Favourite laughs. “Me neither. Oh, the frivolities I used to throw money away on! Blacheville, of course, had been bordering on miserly with how he watched my spending, but any of the others, before or after! You know, Josephine made out like a thief after the boys left us.”

Dahlia uses a napkin to pat away the foam from her upper lip as she frowns. “Josephine?”

“Zéphine. She’s a true and proper professional now: she’d been siphoning off money from … oh, what was his name?”

She racks her brain. “F — Feuilly? Family?”

“Fameuil!” cheers Favourite, hitting the steel tabletop and causing their things to clatter noisily. A quick glance confirms that Yassin had not found their conversation very compelling and has disappeared into the back, saving them his reproach. 

“Zéphine always was too smart for us,” Dahlia concurs. 

“So yeah, Zéphine was putting money from various rich boyfriends over the years away into savings funds and making safe investments, the way she tells it, and a couple months after Olive Garden she started applying for law school. Not a loan to her name, and I hear she has quite the reputation for shredding her opponents. Pays for her own fancy lifestyle these days.”

“Good for her.”

Favourite begins giggling suddenly. “Remember when Tholomyès told her she should smile more?”

A piece of tomato nearly lodges itself in her throat, and Dahlia has to wave off Favourite’s offer of assistance. “Oh my _God,_ he did say that, didn’t he?”

“What a bastard,” Favourite smiles.

“What a bastard,” echoes Dahlia. 

Another dainty sip is taken from Favourite’s whipped cream-laden drink before she adds, “He wasn’t even a good fuck.”

A piece of lettuce is nearly inhaled, and Dahlia accepts that she will have to finish lunch at her desk. _“This is why you had no friends.”_

“He was so ugly, too! I have no idea what Fantine saw in him.”

“I have no idea what _you_ saw in him.”

Favourite shrugs. “He was self-confident, and we were both bored. It’s not like I was in _love_ with him or anything — he sent me gifts and chased me, but it was more for something to do than because we wanted to _date.”_

“What a bastard,” Dahlia repeats, shaking her head. Covertly checking the time on her phone, she adds, “And a _father_ — I can’t believe you slept with a guy who you knew had a _kid_ already.”

“Wasn’t the first, probably won’t be the last,” Favourite shrugs. “Oh, she was the cutest little thing, wasn’t she? Little … Courgette?”

“That’s zucchini, you fool. You’re supposed to know these things, remember, Miss Favourite-with-a-U?” Dahlia teases.

“Oh God, I really was That Bitch, huh? Would you believe that you’re the first person who’s called me that in years?”

“Am I?” It shouldn’t surprise her — she hasn’t gone by ‘Dahlia’ since before she changed jobs— but it does.

Favourite nods. “I go by my given name these days, it’s just easier. There’s been so much paperwork with the baby.”

It’s good that Dahlia had already given up on eating, because surely this piece of news would have sent her to her grave. “You have a baby?” she balks. “On purpose?”

“I’ll admit, it wasn’t quite on purpose; I didn’t end my days of promiscuity quite so readily as you and Zéphine, it would seem. He was something of a miracle baby: managed to survive a condom, Plan B, and the vasectomy the loser I was hooking up with at the time claimed to have gotten. Figured at that point that it was probably a sign.”

There are so many questions, and Dahlia only has five minutes left before she needs to be heading back to the office. “Are — is the father in the picture? Are you still together?” She scans for a ring but finds none.

“God, no. He offered, actually, but like I said, he was a loser. I figured I was better off on my own. My mom started to warm up after that, too — not to me, but apparently not having a maternal bone in her body doesn’t mean she can’t be obsessed with her grandson, so she watches him during my shifts. Dad’s been sending money, too, which is kind of sweet in his own awkward way.” Favourite shakes her head. “I have no idea how Fantine did it. Mine’s almost three, and I can’t imagine having had to do all of this by myself like she did; you know there’s no way Tholomyès was changing diapers.”

A thought occurs to Dahlia, and she can’t believe she hadn’t considered it before. “You … you don’t think Tholomyès stayed in touch with her, do you?”

Favourite snorts. “I was the only one with his number, and he blocked me after their stunt with the video. As far as I know, Fantine’s never had an insta or anything, so I don’t see how he would have, even if he wanted to.”

“So …” The longer Dahlia thinks of it, the more horrified she is. What a wretched, self-centered person she’d been back then! “So she was left all alone.”

Favourite’s expression turns stricken. “I mean … I’m sure someone checked in on her.”

Dahlia shakes her head. “If I didn’t, and you didn’t, and none of the boys did …”

“W-well,” Favourite says, brightening slightly, “she probably knew enough to get child support, right? Tholomyès’s family is loaded, Colette would be more than taken care of.” 

“Favourite,” says Dahlia slowly, “she didn’t know you could arrange for a cab to pick you up in advance. She didn’t have a facebook. And she was living on a waitress’s salary, _with a child.”_

A stony silence falls over them as the bells at the front door jingle, announcing the approach of a new customer. Dahlia sees their form and hears Yassin taking their order, but none of it registers as the weight of what really occurred all those years ago settles in.

A sudden cacophony of noise makes both of them start. It takes a moment for Dahlia to realize it’s her own phone. “Ah, that’s my alarm,” she explains unnecessarily as she turns it off. “I have to be getting back to work.”

“That’s fine, I really should be getting back to the park. I left my mom there with the little one to grab a bite, I’m sure they’ll be wondering where I got off to by now,” Favourite excuses with a seemingly forced smile.

They collect their things and file out of the narrow storefront, laughing awkwardly when they say their goodbyes only to both make the same right turn. Where the street intersects with East 42nd, Dahlia motions her turn and feels a flood of relief when Favourite apologetically inclines her head in the other direction.

Dahlia’s about to cross the street when Favourite catches her elbow. 

“I’m sure she’s fine,” she says insistently, brows pleading. “Fantine was pretty and kind, someone must have taken pity and helped her out.”

Dahlia stares at her for a beat before nodding, and Favourite lets go of her arm.

“Don’t be a stranger, yeah? I’ll see you around.” 

The usually short walk back to the office feels like it takes an eternity, and when she returns to her desk she finds that the room won’t stop spinning around her. It’s a slow afternoon, though, and before long Dahlia finds herself staring down a new Instagram page. Almost without thinking, she types a name into the search bar, then another, then another, and Dahlia is constructing a message.

_Hey Zéphine! It’s Dahlia. I know it’s been a while, but I ran into Favourite earlier today, and we got to talking._

_I was wondering: do you happen to remember Fantine’s last name? And do you have any friends in family law?_

**Author's Note:**

> 1817 (when Fantine was abandoned) was six years before her death in 1823. Just putting that out there ...
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I am unspeakably encouraged by any comment you guys leave, really, and I am also _always_ down to talk Guys & Grisettes, so if either of those things appeal to you, _please_ comment down below or reach out to me on [tumblr](http://shitpostingfromthebarricade.tumblr.com)!


End file.
